Perfect
by Lady Elya
Summary: He tried so hard to be perfect. But that imperfection was what was saving him from himself. One-shot. Short.


**This is really short, and a bit dark. **

**I don't own Naruto.**

I hate them. I hate myself. I always have. I'm constrained, can't move. From their expectations? Sometimes I feel the shackles that are binding me are from fear. I've known it since I knew myself. The fear.

I'm something dark, keeping away the light. I don't want it. I don't want this power. A gift and a curse. I can kill anyone, anything. I can destroy life. The darkness seeps from me and latches to everyone close. I can feel the dripping. It's all around me. The blood. Red liquid I can never wash out, no matter how many times I try it.

Sometimes I think I'm mad. I cannot cry anymore. I wish I could. Imagine a crystal tear sliding down. Dripping, like the blood. But clearer, safer. Saner.

Sometimes I'm lost in the darkness coming from within. Trying to find an escape, yet failing. Falling down. Falling hard.

I want to hear lies, sweet lies. I want someone to tell me I'm safe. From myself? From the fear?

Yes, I am afraid. I hear the whispers sometimes. I feel like they are always there, yet I cannot hear them always. _"You will never be strong enough, you will never be good enough"_ .

I can also hear real shadowy thoughts. Whispered words, in secret, so that no one can hear. Well, I can. I'm better than they think. This thought should bring me satisfaction. It doesn't, and I'm not even surprised.

I know I wasn't conceived in love. I know it, and it hurts. Why was I born? What is my purpose?

Be better! Be stronger! Be smarter! Reach your limits, then pass them. And grow. These words are like a mantra to me now.

But they will never see. They will never know me. Probably no one will. But it gives me some comfort, to have this little secret. Myself. Because I should be perfect. I should be the best there is. Yet there are these treacherous thoughts, which mar my perfection. Even if nobody knows, that's enough. I'm still human.

But there is this deep hunger, burning deep inside of me. And there is this voice, the thing I'm scared of the most. It screams "kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill" over and over and over again. And sometimes I just want to give in. To feed the hunger. To listen to the voice. To kill.

But if I do, I'll lose whatever sanity I have left. So I refrain myself. And wish I could cry.

I think I'm too young. I thought this was normal, before. But now I see others of the same age as me. They are happy. Careless. I wish, I wish so hard it hurts, to be like them. To be free.

But I bury it. All these thoughts, all the pain, wishes, wanting. I bury myself, and all that's left is a shadow of a person. Just a shell. But to them, it's a perfect killing machine. Emotionless, unafraid, unstoppable.

I don't know how to smile. I don't remember. I'm not sure if there's even anything to remember. Have I ever smiled? Have I ever felt happy enough, satisfied enough?

I'm on the battlefield again. I'm used to it. And I try to ignore the way my hands start to slide from the handle of my katana, slick with blood. I try to not see the blood spurting from the corpse before me, try not to feel it splatter on my cheek. And I try not to hear the screams. The screams that will haunt me, always.

The mission is a success. As it is, every time. And as every time, I lose a part of myself, a part I don't think I will ever recapture.

Why do I do this? It is destroying me, killing me. But what else can I do? I don't know anything else. It's damaging me, but at least it's safe. It's something known. At least, I can hide in the routine.

Sometimes, I pretend I'm someone else. I think of fields of flowers and happiness. Safety. Hugs filled with love, breakfasts in the sunlight. Smiles.

Other times, I wish I could scream. I wish I could crumple my emotionless face into a grimace, any grimace. I long to tell people how I really feel, how constrained I am. To cry in a loving embrace of a mother that I never had.

But I don't do anything. I listen to orders, and try to be perfect. They think I am. Perfect. But don't you know? Nobody's perfect. But I wish I were. Because, then I wouldn't feel. I would be a perfect weapon on the inside too, not just on the outside.

I wish I could die. But obedience is so ingrained into me now, that disobeying is just a faraway wish. Just a thought that flutters through my mind when I'm at the edge of sleep.

And even in the dreams I cannot escape. Dreams are the handcuffs of my chains. They are filled with darkness and running. And expectations I cannot fulfill.

But I am all that is left. My core. I try to preserve it, try to preserve me. It's all that I have left, the last rebellion against them.

So, in a twisted way, I don't find it too hard, to kill them. It's just another mission to me now. I have to kill them, the people who brought me up. I can't call them my family, not that. Because families are supposed to be loving, and to keep you safe. But mine never was.

So when I slide my katana through their bodies, as I rid them of their lives, at first I feel only relief. I ignore their cries, their pleas. I show them what they created. The machine that follows orders, a perfect shinobi.

But everything soon comes crashing down. The guilt comes, at last. I see him crying, asking me what's wrong. The one person I always wanted to keep away from this madness, the one person I pushed away just to keep safe. That one person that is now in the middle of it all.

And that's when I realize, I will have to let him kill me. I took everything away from him, so I will let him do the same to me. Because all I have is myself.

And he is the only person I (kind of, maybe, in my twisted way) loved. So if I can't be, if I could never be, at least let him be happy.


End file.
